Chương 17 - The Fracture
The armored Maybach tore south along the Palisades Parkway at over ninety miles per hour, surrounded by an escort of three black SUVs with blacked-out windows.
Inside the cabin, Soren was issuing rapid-fire orders into his satellite phone, his voice cold and precise as he mobilized his private security army across New York and New Jersey.
“Lock down the TriBeCa tower,” Soren ordered. “Deploy the heavy response unit to the perimeter. If Moreau tries to access any server or exit the building, execute him on sight.”
Blythe sat beside him, her phone vibrating against her thigh. She pulled it out.
It was a secure message from Zurich. A single video file.
She tapped the screen and pressed it to her ear.
The video opened on Dana, sitting in the luxurious master bedroom of the Swiss penthouse. Her face was bandaged, but her eyes were wild, red-rimmed, and filled with a despair that tore straight through Blythe’s chest.
*“Blythe,”* Dana’s voice came through the speaker, ragged and broken. *“The men outside won’t let me leave this apartment. They say it’s for my protection, but it’s a prison. And you… you chose him. I saw the news. A body was found floating in Queens with his neck snapped. You’re with a monster, Blythe. You told me you wanted to save lives. You told me you became a nurse because of what happened to your dad.”*
Dana began to cry, shaking her head.
*“If you don’t get on a plane right now, if you don’t walk away from him tonight, don’t ever contact me again. I’m dead to you, Blythe. And you are dead to me.”*
The screen went black.
Blythe lowered the phone, her hands shaking so violently she dropped the device onto the carpeted floor. The tears she had held back through the gunfights, the torture, and the threats finally spilled over, hot and silent against her cold cheeks.
She had saved Dana’s life, but she had lost her sister in every way that mattered.
Soren ended his call. He looked at the discarded phone on the floor, then turned his gaze to Blythe.
For the first time since she had grabbed his arm outside the restaurant two nights ago, the lethal armor around Soren softened. He didn't speak. He didn't offer empty platitudes or tell her that Dana was ungrateful.
He simply reached out, wrapped his large, calloused hand around the back of her neck, and pulled her toward him.
Blythe didn't resist. She collapsed against his chest, burying her face into the fine wool of his shirt. Her fingers knotted into the fabric of his lapels as a jagged sob broke from her throat.
Soren wrapped his arms around her, holding her with a fierce, crushing protectiveness that felt like an anchor in a hurricane.
“Let it burn, Blythe,” Soren murmured against her hair, his deep voice vibrating in his chest. “Weep for what you lost. But tomorrow, you rule the ash.”
“I gave up everything,” she choked out against his chest. “My job, my home, my best friend… everything.”
Soren tilted her face up with his thumb, forcing her to look into his dark, slate-gray eyes. In the shadows of the speeding car, they burned with an obsessive, untamable flame.
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“You gave up a life where you were hunted, poor, and unprotected,” Soren said, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “In exchange, I give you an empire. And I swear to you on my father’s grave, Blythe Campbell: whoever tries to take it from you will die choking on their own blood.”
***
